Dragon (Vlad Taltos)

by Steven Brust

  “I will take personal charge,” said Morrolan.

  Sethra nodded. “Sorcery,” she said.

  The pale woman spoke. Her hair was very black, and her voice soft. “His lead sorcerer is named Ori—”

  “Ori!” I heard myself say.

  “What is it, Vlad?” said Morrolan.

  “Nothing,” I said, embarrassed. “Never mind.”

  The woman looked at me, or, rather, through me, then continued. “He is adept at reconnaissance spells; especially eavesdropping on councils. I have protected this meeting. We must always be careful to do so, and to avoid discussing our plans without protection. In battle he is unlikely to come up with anything we can’t counter, but he’ll keep throwing spells our way to keep our own sorcerers too busy to concoct anything big.”

  Sethra nodded. “Anything else?”

  “Yes,” said Aliera. “Why is he here?” She was looking at me.

  Sethra turned to Morrolan, who said, “Because I wish it.”

  Aliera started to speak, then changed her mind and was silent.

  The meeting broke up; Aliera and the Dragonlord I didn’t know left, Morrolan and Sethra spoke together quietly about details of supply, occasionally venturing off into matters of military theory that I cared about as little as I understood them, and I sat there staring at the map. It was a psiprint, like the one Melestav had shown me, but was more detailed and even cleaner.

  Eventually Morrolan noticed that I was still there. “What is it, Vlad?” he said.

  “Huh? Oh, nothing. I’m just looking at the map. I like maps.”

  “Very well. You have no questions?”

  “Oh, I have a lot of questions, but I don’t know if you feel like answering them.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like why plan for a retreat?”

  Morrolan looked expectantly at Sethra. She said, “I prefer a defensive fight when possible, especially when the numbers are close, and these will be. We might, in fact, be outnumbered overall.”

  “I see. Well, actually, I don’t. What are we trying to do?”

  This time Sethra looked expectantly at Morrolan. He said, “We need to curb his ambitions. This can best be done by handing his army a severe defeat. Sethra feels she can best do this by convincing him to attack us. We have an edge in our engineering corps—that is, we can construct quick and effective defenses better than he can. So we’re going to invade, and invite him to attack, and then beat him.”

  “All right. I think I get it. And then, what, you expect him to return the sword he stole?”

  “Maybe. We may have to negotiate after that.”

  “What’s so special about that sword?”

  “The fact that he wanted it.”

  “But, of all the weapons in that room, why did he take that one?”

  Morrolan nodded. “That’s what I want to know. I trust we’ll find out eventually.”

  “I see.” I considered. “Is there any more you can tell me about Baritt?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “For starters, what were the circumstances of his death?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”

  “Great.”

  “If your task were to be easy,” said Morrolan, “you wouldn’t be earning such a large fee for it.”

  “Don’t play games, Morrolan.”

  “It’s not a game,” he snapped, and looked at me through narrowed eyes; I suppose the look was intended to intimidate me. It worked. He started to say more, then, I guess, decided that he’d cowed me enough and didn’t have to.

  To change the subject, I said, “Who was the pale woman?”

  “The Necromancer,” he said. “She will be in overall charge of our sorcerers.”

  “‘The Necromancer,’” I said. “I’ve heard of her. Heck of a name. Will she raise the dead for us?”

  “If necessary,” said Morrolan. “But I could do that. If circumstances call for it, she can open a gateway for us that will bring us to a place where eternities pass in an instant, and where life and death have no meaning, and where space can only be measured by the twisting of one’s soul. An effective escape, if things go wrong.”

  I was sorry I’d asked. “Could have used her in the Paths of the Dead,” I suggested.

  He didn’t consider that worth a response.

  I said, “I wish I knew what this was all about.”

  “War,” he said.

  “Yeah. Over what?”

  “In part, whether he’s going to keep pushing boundaries.”

  “Is he pushing yours?”

  “Not yet. But he will, if he thinks he can get away with it.”

  “I see. What else?”

  He hesitated. “All right, I’ll tell you part of it. Baritt was feared as a sorcerer. He had a great deal of influence within the House and within the Empire. He was very good at getting what he wanted. Before the Interregnum, he was Imperial Sorcerer for a few hundred years. He defended himself against various attacks from various sources with amazing success. He … well, he was very good.”

  “All right, I’m with you so far.”

  “He was too good.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He did things he ought not to have been able to do. He stood off armies on his own. At one point he defied the Imperium and made it stick. Things like that.”

  “Sounds like you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well?”

  “I’ve been wondering for years how he did it. I’ve come to the conclusion that he had help.”

  “What sort of help?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it? Either the aid of a deity or something else.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as he possessed something. Something powerful. Perhaps an object of some kind—”

  “Say, a sword?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Say, a Great Weapon?”

  “That’s my guess,” said Morrolan. “Based on the fact that it was stolen.”

  I nodded. “And so, you go to war to get it, because you want it, and you don’t want Fornia to have it.” I thought, but didn’t say, all of which is why you let him steal it in the first place.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “And I go to war because he irritated me.”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess that makes sense. You think this, whatever it is, will give you any problems?”

  “Fornia isn’t stupid. I was protecting Baritt’s household, and he violated it. He must have expected reprisals. He knows he is likely to be facing Sethra Lavode, Aliera e’Kieron, the Necromancer, and, if you’ll excuse me, myself. He’s a fool if he isn’t worried about what we can do. That means he thinks he’s up to facing us. He must have some reason for thinking so.”

  “Uh … I see your point. What do you think? Could he be right?”

  “Maybe. Still interested?”

  “Do you know the Jhereg saying about wizards and knives?”

  “Yes. Do you know the Dragon saying about trying to drown water?”

  “No, and I’d as soon not. It might be too subtle for me.”

  Morrolan looked inscrutable and said nothing.

  I went back to my flat and, in spite of the stiffness in my side, threw knives at a piece of wood.

  No one taught me how to throw knives. I remain convinced that there is a better way to learn. But what I did, a few years ago when I decided it was a good thing to know how to do, was this: I set up a piece of wood against a wall, and I bought a bunch of identical knives and positioned myself exactly nine paces away from the target—just about all I had room for at the time. And I just started throwing them as hard as I could. From the beginning my aim was pretty good; there wasn’t much damage to the wall. But I must have thrown four hundred of the things, varying my grip slightly each time, until I got one to hit point first. Then I suppose I threw another couple of hundred until I got it to happen again. And so on.

  I have no i
dea how many thousands of knives I threw at how many pieces of wood before I could regularly stick one in the thing—from exactly nine paces. Loiosh, of course, would periodically make helpful suggestions about how I could convince an enemy to position himself properly.

  How long did it take me to learn to hit a target from any reasonable distance? That’s easy: I still can’t do it reliably. It’s a lot harder than you’d think to get the damn thing to go in point first. And even if you manage, it’s hard to nail him so well that he’s going to be taken out of the action; all of which might make it seem wasted effort.

  On the other hand, if you throw a knife at a guy, he’s going to duck. Besides, you might get lucky. Anything that may give you an edge when your life is on the line is worth putting some work into, don’t you think? And another reason, just as important, is the satisfaction one gets from learning a skill—from learning how to do something you couldn’t do before. It is a good feeling any time you’re dissatisfied with life. And aside from all that, there’s something relaxing about the ritual: deep breath, drop your shoulders, focus on the target, let fly.

  So I went home and threw a bunch of knives at a defenseless piece of wood.

  The next day I put in a real day at the office for the first time that week. It felt a little odd. I handled a few loan requests, checked on my various interests, sent one of my boys to jog the memory of a forgetful debtor, and had a pleasant lunch at a nearby inn called the Crow’s Feet. Then I had a heart-to-heart talk with one of my people who was starting to use a little heavily and might become unreliable, kidded around with Kragar and Melestav, and got caught up reading the local scandal sheets, none of which had any interesting news. And no one tried to kill me all day. Not even any mild threats. It was refreshing.

  The next day was Endweek, and most of the soreness was gone from my side; Aliera apparently did good work. I said as much to Loiosh, who suggested I hire her.

  Whether I go in to the office on Endweek depends on how much I have going on; that day there wasn’t much, so I figured to take the day off, and, that evening, maybe treat myself to a dinner at Valabar’s. I mentally went through a list of possible dinner companions and came up with several options. The idea of spending the day finding a nice Eastern girl to share wonderful food with was entertaining. With luck, I figured, maybe I could even forget about this silly situation I’d gotten myself into.

  It was about then that Morrolan made contact with me.

  “What the fuck do you want?” I said pleasantly, as soon as I realized who had invaded my mind.

  “Have I had the misfortune to interrupt something?”

  “You have interrupted nothing; that’s why I’m so irritated. What do you want?”

  “If you are available, I should appreciate your company on a short journey.”

  “Grand. I assume it’s dangerous.”

  “No,” he said.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Are you disappointed?”

  “No, just startled.”

  “If you will meet me here—”

  “Can you give me a couple of hours? I want breakfast, and to give it time to settle in before I teleport.”

  “Very well,” he said, and the contact was broken.

  I made myself an omelet with sausage, onions, teriano mushrooms, and red peppers. I lingered over it. Loiosh cleaned my plate while I cleaned the frying pan. Then I buckled on my sword, secreted little surprises in their appropriate places in spite of Morrolan’s assurance, and donned my cloak—a lightweight one, because the breeze coming in through the kitchen window promised a warm day. Morrolan, most likely, was going to take us someplace cold, but if I’d taken the heavy cloak he’d take us someplace hot and I didn’t feel like attempting psychic contact with him in order to ask what I should wear.

  I didn’t want to call up one of my own sorcerers, so I returned to the House of the Dragon, which turned out to be a mistake; Baron Lokran wasn’t there so I had to waste a lot of time finding someone else who would and could teleport me to Castle Black; the worst part being that I had to reach Morrolan to ask him. But eventually I made it there, and I didn’t lose my breakfast.

  Lady Teldra gave me her warm Lady Teldra smile and, after a pleasant greeting, did not say, “The Lord Morrolan will join you in the library.” Instead she said, “If you will be kind enough to accompany me, I will take you to where the Lord Morrolan awaits.” Variation. Something different.

  “Goodness, Boss. What does it all mean?”

  “Glad to,” I told Lady Teldra.

  We went up the main stairway, as usual, but continued past the library all the way down the long and very wide hallway. It ended in a door, which brought us to another flight of stairs; these were straight and wide, and reached a landing that swept back in an elegant curve before straightening again. At the top was another hallway; this one I’d never seen before. It was also wide, and it curved gently. Teldra opened a door and gestured for me to precede her. I stepped onto a very narrow circular stairway; the stairs were made of iron and they went up a long way. The door closed behind me. I looked back. Teldra had not followed.

  “Maybe it’s a trap,” said Loiosh.

  “That isn’t as funny as you think it is.”

  The stairwell was so narrow I nearly had to ascend sideways, and my shoulder kept rubbing against stonework. The metal rail was cold against my hand. There were a lot of stairs. It flashed through my mind that we were getting pretty high up, and then I almost laughed when I realized that we’d started about a mile up in the air, so this climb didn’t change much.

  At last we reached the top, where there was a thick, black door. I stood outside it like an idiot for a minute, trying to decide what to do, then I clapped.

  “Come in,” said Morrolan.

  I opened the door. It creaked melodramatically. I wouldn’t put it past Morrolan to have purposely installed a door that would creak melodramatically.

  I was in a round room—about as big around as my flat. The lighting was provided by a pair of half-shuttered lanterns, which gave less light than whatever had lit the staircase on the way up, which meant that I wouldn’t be able to see much until my eyes adjusted. I suddenly remembered, from the courtyard, seeing a single tower atop Castle Black. That must be where we were.

  “Brilliant, Boss.”

  “Shut up, Loiosh.”

  “Notice the window, Boss?”

  “It’s the only thing I can see.”

  “How come it’s night out past the window, and day when we walked up here?”

  “I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

  “That’s creepy.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  My eyes began to adjust. There wasn’t much to see, just a low table and a couple of wooden chests. There were curtains all around the tower, and a set of curtains pulled aside from the window; hence there were windows all around the tower, several of them. At least six. Fewer than seventeen, which was both a relief and oddly disconcerting.

  “Boss, when we saw the tower from below, were there any windows?”

  “No.”

  “I hadn’t thought so.”

  I also noticed that Morrolan was wearing his sword. Since Morrolan wasn’t accustomed to walking around his home armed, there had to be an explanation. I wasn’t looking forward to it. Especially because “armed” in this case meant Blackwand, one of the seventeen Great Weapons. Its presence did nothing to make me feel better.

  He said, “Welcome to the Tower, Vlad.”

  “Thank you.”

  “There are very few permitted up here.”

  “Okay. Would you mind explaining the window?”

  “I don’t believe you have had the training necessary to understand.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “What is important, however, is that I can sometimes make the windows look upon what I wish, and that I can then travel to those places. This can be useful in bringing me to places where I do not have a s
ufficient mental grasp to teleport, or to a place which lies beyond the confines of what we consider ‘the world.’”

  “Handy thing to have around. Do you know any place that sells them?”

  “And, of course, I can bring anyone I wish with me.”

  “Uh … I’m not sure I like where this conversation is heading.”

  “I have been attempting to solve the problem of determining exactly what Fornia took from that room, and the related problem of why I failed to notice anything significant about it.”

  “That’s good, Morrolan. A nice mental puzzle will distract you from—”

  “Regard the window, Vlad.”

  “Do I have to?”

  But I did, and it was no longer quite black, but had become somewhat grey. A closer look revealed a certain reddish hue amid the grey. And then, near the top, I noticed a bit of orange-red color that seemed a great deal like the sky. The grey had taken on a texture, and suddenly, instead of looking at something mysterious and terrifying, I realized that I was looking at a mountain, with a bit of sky beyond it. Of course, there was no mountain that close to Castle Black, which made it mysterious and terrifying, but you can’t have everything.

  “Where or what is it?” I said.

  “We are looking at Hawk Mountain, in the Kanefthali chain.” Something in his voice made me look at him; he was exerting a great deal of effort, more than I’d ever seen from him before.

  His left hand was clenched into a fist, turned up, and held stiffly out in front of him at about chin height, the elbow bent. His right hand and arm were moving, going through various gyrations while the fingers extended, contracted, wiggled, twitched, and generally appeared to have a life of their own. Morrolan’s eyes were narrowed to slits, and he was breathing loudly, through opened lips, creating a very slight whistling sound through his clenched teeth.

  The thought Earth, water, fire, and air came into my mind as I compared left hand, right hand, eyes, and mouth; but I strongly suspect it wasn’t anything that simple. I’ve seen sorcery, and I’ve seen witchcraft, and this didn’t look like either one. I wasn’t at all certain I wanted to know what it was.